


Eight Years

by Butsinceimetyou



Category: Glee
Genre: Car Accidents, Hospitals, M/M, Major character dearth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butsinceimetyou/pseuds/Butsinceimetyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot can happen in eight hours, eight days, eight months, eight years. Can Blaine handle it?</p><p>(((MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH)))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Years

The first thing to go was the tea. The ceramic handle slipped through Blaine’s fingers. The mug of Earl Grey shattered onto the table.  The contents ran across the oak finish, staining the parchment amber.  The ink blurred.

“What?” he demanded into the phone clenched tightly in hand. The gentle voice spoke again, only a whisper amidst the ringing in his ears.

                “This is Emily from University Hospital…your husband, Sebastian Anderson-Smythe, was in a car accident. You need to come down here, Mr. Anderson-Smythe.” Although she had said it twice, Blaine was having trouble registering her words. He felt as if his heart was in his throat, choking, cutting off the oxygen to his lungs. A moment passed, and he finally managed to sputter out, “Okay,” before the phone, like the tea, fell, tumbling down against the table with a thunk.

                _Sebastian. Car accident. Hospital._

                Coming to his senses, he snatched up the phone, which by some luck had not suffered the same shattering fate as the mug after its descent to the table, and shoved it into his pocket. The short path to the door suddenly seemed a mile long. He slipped on his boots and grabbed the keys to the Honda off the entry table.

                The drive was a blur. The ice covering the hospital parking lot crunched under his boots as he shuffled towards the door. Inside, the building smelled of the usual sterile stench that hospital walls held. The kind looking woman at the front desk must have noticed how frantic he looked, as she asked him if he needed some help.

                “I got a call,” Blaine told her. “My husband, he…my husband was in a car accident.” She gave him a sympathetic look.

                “What’s your husband’s name, Mr.—”

                “Anderson-Smythe. Uh, his name is Sebastian Anderson-Smythe. And my name is Blaine, if…if you need to know that.” Blaine tried to keep his breathing under control. She typed a few things into the computer, before turning back to him.

                “He’s in Room 408. Do you need help—“

                “Thank you!” he yelled, running towards the elevators at the end of the hall. Blaine could have sworn that they were the slowest elevators that he had ever encountered. A ding sounded from the one closest to him, and he slid in alongside other hospitals visitors and personnel.

                When the elevator finally stopped at the fourth floor, Blaine jumped out and rushed to the nurses’ desk.

                “Sebastian Anderson-Smythe. I got a call. Is he okay? Can I see him?”

                “The doctor will be out soon to speak with you, sir. Why don’t you take a seat?” _Take a seat? My husband has been in a car accident, and you want me to sit down?_ Blaine thought. But, he did sit down, and he waited.

-

                It had been eight hours.

                Eight hours since Blaine saw Sebastian’s glowing emerald eyes. Eight hours since they kissed. Eight hours since he watched him walk out the door of their home.

                Sebastian had said, “I’ll see you, tonight.” and Blaine had believed him. After three years of marriage, three years of _I’ll see you tonights_ , he had never had a reason to believe that he wouldn’t see him that night, or the next night, or the night after that. But a lot can happen in eight hours.

                It took a meager five minutes for them to explain. _Icey roads. Lost control. Collision. There was nothing we could do._ They had rushed him to the hospital as soon as he was extracted. He had been here a mere eight minutes, and then gone. They had managed to revive him, but after hours of surgeries and tests, nothing.

                Next to Blaine, his mother-in-law was crying into Sebastian’s step father’s shoulder, who was holding back sobs, biting his fist. While they cried, Blaine stood there with his eyes dry. The ringing had returned to his ears, the taste of ash on his tongue, and he simply could not ignore the feeling of fire in his stomach. Sebastian, his love of eight years, was dead. _Sebastian. Car accident. Hospital._ _Gone._ No amount of tears would bring him back, so Blaine did not cry. Soon, a dizziness overcame him, making his eyesight waver, and his skin clammy. The feeling of arms around him was barely there as everything went black.

-

                It had been eight days.

                Eight days since Blaine saw his smile. Before his life had drastically changed, the average amount of time Blaine spent in bed each day was about six to eight hours. After, that average dropped to about one, and even then he didn’t sleep. Insomnia took over his nights, and so he filled that time with work. Hours were spent typing at his computer, whether it was for an article for one of his freelance gigs or mindless nonsense to numb his senses, he was always typing. Always staring at the glowing screen, trying to will away the ache in his stomach, his head, his heart.

                His mother called him every day, her voice lined with worry and tears. She always asked the same questions,

                “Have you eaten today, sweetheart?” Her voice gentle, filled with concern.

                “Yes, mom.” He would sigh.

                “Have you slept?” She would ask, even though she knew the answer.

                “Define sleep?” He would ask with a bitter laugh.

                “How are you feeling?” _How do you think I’m feeling?_ He never answered that question. He always told her that he loved her, and he had to get back to work before hanging up the phone. He knew that she was just trying to help, but every day she would ask those questions, and every day they would make him feel just the slightest bit worse than the day before. He wasn’t taking care of himself, he knew that, she knew, his father knew, everyone knew. He wasn’t ready to take care of himself or anyone else, not yet.

                He constantly felt like he was choking. Choking on the air that was not really air; the air that Sebastian had exhaled into his lungs, into his life, whenever he was around. The air that was no longer there. Sebastian had been what kept him breathing. Blaine had yet to figure out a way to breathe again.

                He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

-

                It had been eight months.

                Eight months since he heard his laugh. He had started sleeping, finally. Some nights it was hard. Every once in a while Blaine would find himself staring at a blank word document for hours, eating the time away. But, most nights, he could get in a good five to six hours, at least.

He had less trouble breathing. Sometimes, he would think of Sebastian and feel like smashing everything that surrounded him, but more and more, he would think of him and smile. He tried to remember the good times. That’s what his mother kept telling him to do. So, he tried.

He got a job. Freelance writing wasn’t really paying the bills, so he started looking for more permanent forms of employment. A friend contacted him when the magazine that she worked for had an opening. He had been writing restaurant reviews for two months, and was starting to settle.

The house was too big, but he did his best to ignore it, filling the place with endless amounts of trinkets and books. The type of junk that Sebastian would have disapproved of. He would have told him to return all of it ( _Book ends? We have book shelves, we don’t need book ends. That’s a waste of money, Blaine)._ But it helped, or at least he allowed himself to believe that it did. So, Blaine spent money that he did not have, and bought shit that he did not need, and Sebastian wasn’t there to tell him to take it back. He wished he was there to tell him to take it back.

                Sebastian and Blaine never ate out. Each night, they would cook together, and dance in the kitchen to whatever top 40 hit was playing on the radio. Eating out was too expensive, especially for a wedding photographer and a freelance writer. Now, with Blaine’s new job at the magazine, he got paid to eat at restaurants beyond his budget. At least three times a week, he went to the next up and coming food joint, and ate by himself. He ate at places Sebastian and he never would have fathomed going to. He didn’t mind, though. He never liked cooking, anyway. Blaine only liked cooking with his husband.

-

                It had been eight years.

                Eight years since Sebastian was taken from Blaine’s world. He married, again. His name is Andy Robinson, and he’s a writer, just like Blaine. They met about six years ago, shortly after Blaine moved back home. Living in a brownstone in the city all alone had been stifling and lonely. So he had headed back to Ohio, and rented an apartment near his parents’ house.

He had got a job at the local newspaper editing articles on high school football games and barber shop grand openings. That’s where he met Andy. He was a columnist who wrote about local entertainment. Stuff like what was playing at the community rec center theatre, or what was showing at the revival cinema. Andy had worked at the paper since he graduated from college a few years before. He was average height, had blonde hair, and olive skin. He was nothing like Sebastian. But he was sweet and funny, and was one of the few people that went out of their way to introduce himself to Blaine on his first day. He was the fresh air that Blaine needed; that he had needed for years. They started dating a few months after that first day, and slowly but surely, he fell in love, again.

                Now, Blaine is sitting at the dinner table, across from his husband, and thinking of the man he once had. After a long eight years, he has gained back all the air that had once left his lungs. But he will never forget the man that first brought him to life.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, if this was a bit cliche. I haven't written much in a while, and I'm still trying to get back in the swing of things. Let me know what you think in the comments :)


End file.
